Page 52 of Daddies of the Underworld

Almost.

The baby stayed a secret beneath my ribs, bright and impossible and suddenly terrifying. I couldn’t tell them now.

They’d either think I was lying–which would be easy enough to prove–or they’d think I did it on purpose to trap them.

I slid out of the bed, leaving the sheet behind, and dressed before going to my room and closing the door.

No one followed me.

No one checked on me at all until Rosa brought my breakfast, and even she pressed her lips into a thin line and walked out without saying a word.

I was dead to them. To all of them.

I’d made the wrong choice in their eyes by defending my brother.

He’d done something unforgivable in their eyes, and while I understood that, he was my family.

If he was in trouble, I had an obligation to protect him.

The next day, I ventured out of my rooms.

I needed fresh air, and I needed to see and hear what had changed. It took less than an hour to understand that everything had changed.

Conversations stopped when I entered rooms. Matteo’s men stepped aside for me but their expressions were blank.

There was no more respect, only stares.

Guards watched my hands, my bag, the direction of my gaze.

Rosa still brought food, but her mouth pressed thin each time she found most of it untouched.

I tried to tell them about the baby three times.

The first time, Luca sat near me on the balcony at dawn.

He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders before I asked for one, his hands lingering on my arms. “Bella, you need to eat.”

“There’s something I need to tell you.” I pulled the blanket close, unable to look at him for fear of what I’d see.

His phone rang before I found the next word. The warmth left his face as he listened. “Where?” He sighed, patted my shoulder, and left with a promise that we’d talk later.

The second time, Dante caught me in the corridor outside the physician’s room.

His eyes swept over my face, then down my body, missing nothing and still somehow missing everything. “You’re pale again.”

“I’m fine.” I hated the lie the second it left me. “Dante, I need⁠—”

A guard appeared behind him with a folder that he pressed into Dante’s hand while cutting between us so I couldn’t see the contents. Dante opened it, read one line, and cursed so vehemently the guard took a step back.

“What?” I started forward, but he snapped the folder shut.

His gaze lifted to mine. “I have to take care of this. You should get some rest.” It almost sounded like he cared, but I had stopped trusting my emotions. If he cared, he would look at me. He would tell me everything was going to be okay. He did none of those things.

The third time was Matteo.

He came to our room after midnight, his shirt sleeves rolled up, silver at his temples catching the lamplight, and stood there.

He looked older than he had a week ago. Older and tired in a way that made my chest ache.